


There is a Mouse in My Bed

by OkProblematic



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, so much metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 10:49:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1223515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OkProblematic/pseuds/OkProblematic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a drabble where Louis is cute and tiny and wakes Harry up because he wants Mac 'N' Cheese.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There is a Mouse in My Bed

There are tiny hands pushing as his shoulder, barely rocking its mass in an effort to wake him. He groans, a soft, unhappy sound because it’s got to be something like two in the morning and he hasn’t got to be up for a while now. Actually, he doesn’t have to be up at all today.

“Hazza.” It’s a quiet whisper and Harry imagines it spoken by a fairy with sharp little ears and a crown of flowers around its head. He belatedly realizes that it sounds utterly terrified and he slowly blinks his eyes open.

The room is dark still and there is a mouse sitting up in Harry’s bed, its wide eyed and shaking, little nose tucked up under the covers that are being held up by two little hands. It’s got such a little frame, bare shoulders sticking out from the duvet, little round ears showing from where hair has been parted by slumber. Harry decides he needs more sleep and lets his eyes slip closed again.

“Harry.” He groans before blinking sleepily again, this time waking to.. the same little mouse. In the darkness of the room he can see wide, terrified eyes and he really tries to blink the sleep out of his eyes, but he can’t seem to do so.

With every blink, Harry’s memories come tumbling back, a box in his head opened and letting just the right amount of moving picture to show up on the telly that it his brain. “Louis?” There’s a soft sound of recognition, before shifting sheets and another quiet little sound, Harry waits for silence before he speaks, “’s a matter?”

The swallow of a throat, the fairy eating the last little bit of Harry’s heart because he’s given it to the little thing, fell in love with it, such a dainty thing in this big awful world, “I – I had a nightmare.” A shudder, the wind knocking the crown off of the little fairy’s head, Harry rushes to pick it up, he gathers the little mouth into his arms, avoids braining himself on pointy elbows and stray knees.

“I’m right here, darling. You’re okay.” His words are whispers, voice soft because he’s talking to a spooked animal, such a small thing, innocent and afraid. Louis hides his wet nose in Harry’s neck, cheeks still dripping lightly with tears. “Do you want go back to sleep?” The shake of a little head, frantic and scared, “Okay, we won’t then. What do you wanna do?” 

Silence before, “Mac ‘n’ Cheese?” There’s a little sound, almost a giggle, the fairy hiccupping, “Can you make me some?” It’s a hopefully little mouse, Harry thinks, a forgetful one too, if the way it no longer seems to be thinking of its night terror is anything to go by.

“Sure, baby cakes, if that’s what you want. Get you some tea too, if you want.” A nod this time, excited little fairy that drops a bit of glitter in its haste. Harry picks Louis up in his big arms and untangles them from the blankets, nearly tripping on the way out of bed, the mouse giggles, nips at his neck only the tiniest bit. “’s get you dressed, okay?” He sets the boy down on the dresser and digs through the drawers until he finds his biggest sweater, slips it over the little thing’s head, giggles as it messes with his hair, pushing it down onto his little forehead. Harry grabs some pants for himself and slides them on as the mouse continues to let out little giggles at his awkward movements. They move to the kitchen, Harry carrying Louis, the little fairy laughing happily in his ear. He makes tea for the little one, sits him on the counters with it and turns back to the stove, whistling quietly while he starts the Mac ‘n’ Cheese.

Harry plops himself down on the floor across from the stove after pouring the noodles into the water and setting the timer, the cold, speckled tiles refreshing on his crossed, bare thighs. He watches the little green numbers blink back at him (solid, gone, solid, gone), the one and the four that tell him he’s got fourteen minutes to savour the moment, fourteen minutes to remember this, how perfect it is like this. There’s a soft hiss as the water boils over just the smallest bit, a funny little noise as the noodles rise to the top only to be sucked down again in a downward spiral (Louis would compare it to love, or the ocean, or something equally sad and consuming, he thinks. Except, at the same time, thinks love isn’t sad, but he wouldn’t really know, anyway, he’s never been in love before).

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Louis’ little legs kick his tiny feet back and forth from where he’s sitting on the counter in nothing but Harry’s over-sized sweater. He giggles into the cup of tea in his dainty hands, Yorkshire by special request, (“Hazza, what do you mean you don’t have Yorkshire? I mean, you don’t have to have it, I just..” but Harry did have to have it because Louis had to have it), a quiet little, dribbling stream in a world full of huge, important oceans. The heel of his tiny foot narrowly misses catching the curve of Harry’s bare shoulder on every back-kick and Harry thinks he likes this Louis, thinks he likes happy Louis, knows he likes this Louis, the little fairy dances around inside Harry’s head. He realizes it laughs like Louis. Prettyprettypretty.

Its three a.m. and Harry is in love with the small boy who is smiling quietly while seated on the counter, swishing his legs around in a sweater that is exactly four sizes too big and slips off of one shoulder if he moves just a little bit to the left (or would it be the right? Harry and his dumb, gangly limbs can’t tell the difference) like a child patiently waiting for their afternoon snack (but it’s early in the morning and Harry is not a parent). He’s in love with the prettiest mouse in the world, the boy who is gripping a steaming tea mug with the sleeves of Harry’s ugliest jumper, it’s the one with holes everywhere, the one that’s the colour of the sunset when there are dark rain clouds behind it, awful, awful orange (Harry can’t get rid of it, especially now), that are engulfing his hands, only the tips of tanned fingertips with bitten down nails peaking out, with his thighs jumping the slightest bit on the cool granite and the soft little thumps as sock-less little feet hit the drawers making him giggle and is demanding Mac ‘n’ Cheese because what else could he possibly want as 3:27 in the morning?

Harry catches his ankle in his hand and tugs the littlest bit as the mouse comes out of itself, becomes less scared and wakes up. “Think in another world you’d be a cat, Hazza.”

“If I’m a cat then you’re a mouse.” He tugs at the thin ankle again and the mouse smiles, sharp little teeth and a sly little glint, slinks off of the counter and setting next to Harry. Suddenly Louis is the cat and Harry is the mouse, tiny and hunted by the kitty he knows, the fairy plays in the woods, begging to be chased across the expanse of them, giggling and laughing, a smaller Louis.

Louis climbs into Harry’s lap then, innocence and naivety in his eyes, so unused to the world outside Harry’s flat, he wonders when it got that way, doesn’t care, really, because he’d have a little mouse run around it every day if could, chased by a dashing little fairy. 

He also wonders when he became such a poet, thought that was Louis’ job but he guesses he’s just being rubbed off on, shrugs and lets the little mouse make a home in his fur. They sit like that in the quiet of the cook Mac and giggle softly.

Later, Harry will finish Louis’ Mac ‘n’ Cheese and laugh at his ridiculous face and sit him on the couch, asks if he wants to talk about the nightmare, the little mouse won’t and Harry won’t push, only tell him the option is always there. Louis will fall asleep again on Harry’s lap and the giant will watch him sleep, smile at his twitching nose and carry him back to bed, catch the sleeping fairy in his hallway and smiles as he tucks them back into bed.

They’ll sleep for hours, well into the next day and Harry will awaken to a wonderful boy who will refuse to believe he is anything but tough and will tease Harry for being such a sap, but he’ll smile knowingly, he’ll know that Harry had whispered that he loved him long after he’d fallen asleep.

More importantly, or maybe it’s equally as important, he’ll know that he loves the giant back, including all of his stupid gangly limbs.


End file.
